


A Shot in the Woods

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries, not a lot of that comfort, painful wound cleaning, why do I torture him so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23115031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alone in the woods, Washington was trapped as he desperately tried to help his young aide, who was bleeding out on the forest floor. Sometimes, you wonder if the pain of survival outweighs the pain of death.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 93





	A Shot in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I had a job interview today and this was my was of dealing with that stress.

“All I’m saying, sir, is that if you would just let me-”

“ _No,_ Alexander.”

“But if-”

Washington turned around to face his aide, who was walking next to him. They had decided (more like Washington had decided, Hamilton was forced) to leave the camp for the afternoon. It was a nice day, and Washington used that as an excuse to get Hamilton to stop working for _one hour, goddamnit Alexander, it’s not the end of the world._ His aide had been working nonstop for days, only occasionally taking breaks when Laurens of the Marquis forced him to eat. It reached a point where Washington decided that enough was enough and he needed to step away from the tent. He was no use to him dead.

“For the last time, Hamilton, I will not allow you to send that letter. We can’t afford to antagonize Congress, which is exactly what will happen if they read those insults!” Washington explained.

Hamilton gave a mischievous smile. “It would be a miracle if they could see them past their inflated sense of importance, sir.” He said, stepping to his right.

Washington let out a surprised laugh, before he put a stern look on his face. “Now, you shouldn’t say that about our congressmen. They are doing their best with what they are given.” He admonished.

Hamilton didn’t seem put off by his tone. If anything, it only fueled his tirade. “Based on the reports we have received from South Carolina, there are plenty of supplies ready to be distributed. They’d be looking in the right places if they would look anywhere other than where they’ve stuck their heads up their-”

A twig snapped on their left. Immediately, Hamilton cut off his sentence. Washington grabbed his pistol, aiming it toward the portion of woods where the sound had come from. They were on a lesser used trail, about a mile from camp. No sentries had been sent this far out. If there was someone out there, they were not on their side.

Hamilton was tense. He hadn’t brought his pistol, but the lack of weapon did not stop him from stepping in front of Washington to act as a guard against a possible enemy. Washington wanted to tell him to move behind him, but he knew better. The noise would alert whoever was in the woods to their position if they didn’t already know, and Hamilton hardly followed orders as it is. The order would likely be ignored and serve only to reveal their location.

They stood in silence for two minutes, not daring to move. No more noise had come from the trees. The only things that could be heard was birds chirping and the faint sound of a roaring river, the sounds dampened by the trees. After standing completely still, there was still no movement.

Alexander relaxed his stance. “If there was someone there, sir, they would have taken their shot by now. It was probably a deer. We should head back and-”

A shot rang out through the woods. Quickly raising his pistol from where he had momentarily lowered it, he fired in return towards where he guessed the enemy was. He heard nothing, but no bullet was fired back, so he assumed that their assailant had either been killed or they had escaped after they had taken their shot. He lowered his weapon. Turning to face Alexander, his eyes still trained on the tree line, he said, “We need to return to camp. If there was one, there will probably be more.” His words were not met with an affirmation as he had expected, but with silence. “Hamilton?”  
  


When he turned, Alexander was staring at him with wide eyes. His face was one of shock. His hands were pressed just above his right hip. He looked lost, mouth slightly agape.

“Alexander?” He asked tentatively. “Are you alright?”

Alexander slowly pulled his hand away from his hip. They were covered in blood. His waistcoat, once white, was stained a dark red, a hole torn through it an inch from the hem. The shot from the woods hadn’t missed. It had hit Alexander.

Seeing the wound, the full implications of what had happened seemed to hit him at once. He looked from the gunshot back to Washington. He let out a strangled gasp, his legs giving out.

Washington leaped forward, grabbing him before he could hit the ground. “You’re alright Alexander.” He promised, lowering him to the ground. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Sir, please,” Alexander gasped, clutching at his side. “Help please-”

“Move your hands.” Washington ordered, kneeling at his side. When Alexander didn’t respond, he forced them away so he could see the damage.

Blood was flowing out of the wound at an alarming rate. It had barely missed hitting any organs, from what he could see. If it had been any higher, it would have hit his kidney. From what he could see, there was no exit.

Gently moving Alexander’s face until he was looking up at him, Washington tried to prepare himself for what he had to do. “Alexander, can you understand me?”

Eyes hazy with pain, Alexander was struggling to comprehend his words. After a second, he nodded slowly.

“I need to stop the bleeding. It is going to hurt.” He warned.

Alexander nodded vaguely, eyes drifting over to the side. The pain, the blood loss, or a combination of both was causing him to have only a thin grasp on consciousness. George prayed that he would go unconscious to save him from what he was about to do. Carefully, he positioned his hands on top of the wound. He took a deep breath, and counted down. Three, two, one. He pressed down on the gunshot wound.

Alexander shot back to reality at the sudden, all encompassing pain. He arched under George’s grip, hands shooting out to grab his arms. “Please- stop, please! Oh God, stop!” He begged, grappling uselessly at George’s hand in a desperate attempt to stop him. “Stop, _please_!”

George didn’t stop. He couldn’t, if he stopped Alexander would bleed out. But _God,_ his broken pleas felt a knife in his heart. Alexander’s begging didn’t stop, growing only more frantic the longer George applied pressure.

Moving his hands after a minute, he looked to see if the bleeding had slowed. Alexander sobbed in relief when he finally let go. “ _Thankyouthankyouthankyou-”._

The bleeding hadn’t stopped, or even slowed. The pressure wasn’t enough. George was going to have to push harder.

He moved on top of Alexander. Carefully, he trapped his legs beneath him. “I’m so sorry.” Without warning, he moved his hands back in place and pushed with all his strength. And Alexander _screamed._

The sounds coming out of him sounded inhuman. They didn’t even seem to come from his mouth, tearing out of his chest. He threw his head back against the ground. His hands grasped desperately at the grass and his legs twisted uselessly beneath George’s weight, trying to escape. The scream resounded through the woods, so loud it might have been heard from camp.

Alexander suddenly went limp. His eyes rolled back in his head and his screams ceased. The only sign he was still alive was the slight rise and fall of his chest. Clinging to hope, George stayed there for an indeterminate amount of time, pleading with whatever cruel fate was watching over them that Alexander would survive long enough to bring him back to camp. When he finally moved his hands away for a second time, the blood no longer flowed out.

Quickly, he took off his overcoat and wrapped it tightly around Alexander’s midsection. Carefully lifting him into his arms, he still did not stir. The only signs of hope were the faint movement of his chest and his weak pulse. Stumbling back towards the trail, George could only pray that he’d hold on.

-

After, George would learn that he carried Alexander into camp right before dusk. Soaked in blood, he refused to hand over Alexander to the doctor until Lafayette appeared, promising to take care of him. He had virtually collapsed the moment he had entered his tent, passing out for the next seven hours. While he slept, the doctors performed surgery on Alexander. They spent hours removing the bullet. It had been dangerously lodged by his spine. Any wrong movement could have paralysed him or cost him his life. He had, mercifully, stayed unconscious through the procedure.

Now, fifteen hours after they had first walked into those woods, Washington was quietly crying at his aides bedside.

Alexander had survived.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from, but it's 2 a.m. and I'm going to bed now. I'll look back on this in a few days and hate it, but that's a problem for future me to figure out.


End file.
